


Chasing Fire

by agent_starbuck



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Cunnilingus, Eventual Fluff, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fox Mulder Angst, Jealous Dana Scully, Masturbation, One Shot, Oral Sex, POV Dana Scully, Post-Episode: s03e13 Syzygy, Smut, Syzygy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 23:14:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17272985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_starbuck/pseuds/agent_starbuck
Summary: She could stop this right now, and their partnership would remain beyond reproach. There would be a few awkward weeks, but they'd put this night in the box labeled 'Things Never to Talk About,' and they'd move on. Like they always do.Except, she'd die an old, lonely maid because there would never be another man who could set her soul on fire the way Mulder does.She'd always be chasing that fire.





	1. Chasing Fire - 1

**Author's Note:**

> A story about what we all wish would've happened after the episode Syzygy. There is just too much angst and sexual tension for our favorite FBI agents not to have acted on it. I love how Chris Carter wanted this episode to be a confirmation of how there could never be a romantic element to their relationship. 
> 
> Sure. Fine. Whatever.
> 
> Starts off angsty, turns into eventual fluff because I can't help myself. Mostly Scully's POV.

Scully tightly grips the worn leather steering wheel, knuckles turning white, as she speeds off into the darkness, anger boiling in her veins. It takes everything inside her to ignore her partner's incessant remarks about her apparent inability to navigate their way out of this crazy town. She feels like she can't do anything right lately, especially in Mulder's eyes.

 

In fact, she's amazed that he even thinks her capable of operating a motor vehicle at all-- that her little feet could even reach the pedals.

 

"Uh, there's an intersection up here. You're gonna wanna... Scully! You're gonna wanna..." he trails off as he realizes she's not paying attention to a damn word he's saying.

 

She speeds up even faster.

 

He throws his hands out in front of him as he watches her pass the intersection, then looks back at her.

 

He stares at her incredulously.

 

"You just ran a stop sign back there, Scully."

 

"Shut up, Mulder," she retorts almost before he can even finish his sentence.

 

"Sure. Fine. Whatever," he quips, throwing her earlier sentiments back in her face.

 

Scully glares at him from the corner of her eye, seeing him shift uncomfortably in his seat, swallowing hard, the shadow of his Adam's Apple bobbing up and down in the light of the passing street lamps.

 

 _'Good,'_ she thinks. She wants to make him sweat.

 

She hates this town. She hates the people. She hates this case. She particularly hates one very tall, very attractive blonde detective, and she wants to get as far away from everything as quickly as humanly possible.

 

She can't pinpoint when, exactly, it happened, but there had been an unexpected shift in the dynamic of their relationship lately. Not just with work, but in all aspects, it seemed. She was acutely aware of how strained things had become, the delicate balance suddenly disrupted, their worlds off kilter.

 

For someone who prides herself on her remarkable instincts-- she is a detective, after all-- Scully is especially frustrated that she can't identify the reason for the precarious state of their relationship.

 

She feels stuck in limbo, and no matter how noble her intentions are at trying to facilitate peace between them, one wrong glance or word from Mulder, and she's quick to react with a snarky remark and an eye-roll, for embellishment.

 

Scully has been annoyed with Mulder, in the past, sure. But, recently, just the sight of his (admittedly adorable) face is enough to set her on edge.

 

It didn't seem fair.

 

Here she was, putting her life on the line for this man-- giving up any semblance of a normal life, so that he could traipse around small-town America, chasing aliens and vampires and teenage hormonal-crazed Satanists, all for what, exactly? So, that he could find the "truth" while banging some blonde, bimbo detective a few feet away from her hotel room?

 

They drive for hours over the country back roads of Connecticut, sitting in awkward silence. There's nothing for miles except farmland and the occasional run-down gas station. She's had to pee for at least 45 minutes now, but she dare not stop anywhere, purely out of spite, since Mulder will remark about how they should've taken the interstate where there are rest areas along the way. She stews over the last few days-- thinks about how agitated she is with Mulder for being such a macho pain in the ass, and wishing she had stayed home instead of blindly following him to that literal hell-hole of a town.

 

She hears Mulder clear his throat, the sudden sound shaking her out of her obsessive thoughts.

 

She doesn't respond.

 

She hears him clear his throat again, this time louder and more deliberate.

 

"What?!" she snaps.

 

"Oh, nothing," he remarks-- his unusually calm voice wearing thin on her already frazzled nerves.

 

"I, uh, just thought you'd like to share with me, your partner, where you're planning on us spending the night since the hotel we were supposed to stay at is now about 30 miles in the other direction."

 

Scully has a mind to tell him they're not spending another night in another shoddy motel ever again. That they're going to drive this whole damn night until they reach DC, no matter how worn out they both are.

 

She, instead, lets out a defeated sigh, and wills herself to stay somewhat amicable.

 

"Look, we're not far away from the interstate. We'll drive until we find somewhere to stay, okay?"

 

"Sure, Dana."

 

She's taken aback by the sudden sincerity in his voice. He hardly ever calls her by her first name. She almost thinks he says it in jest, but his tone is anything but mocking.

 

She feels the urge to glance over at him.

 

He is staring straight ahead, his head resting upon his fist, elbow propped up on the window's ledge. He looks exhausted. His hair is rumpled, his sleeves are sloppily rolled up, his tie loose and crooked, and bags are starting to form under his eyes.

 

She begins to feel a little guilty at how she treated him earlier. She's acting like a jealous, territorial girlfriend, not his partner. In fact, lately, their bickering could rival that of a couple married for 50 years.

 

What was happening between them?

 

They continue driving in silence, each engrossed in their own thoughts until, about an hour later, they spot the telltale neon sign of a second-rate motel in the distance, and pull off the road into the parking lot.

 

        

* * *

 

              

She showers, changes into her silky pajamas, and heads to the vending machine to get a diet Coke and some microwave popcorn-- her usual routine after a long case away from home.

 

Most nights, Mulder smells the popcorn she's just made, and invites himself over to watch a cheesy Sci-Fi film on cable. They fight over the last kernels in the bag, she laughs at how impossible the plot lines in the movie are, he pokes holes at her seemingly air-tight, rational explanations-- then, he leaves after she falls asleep halfway through the movie. She always awakes with the comforter inexplicably tucked tightly under her chin.

 

Tonight, however, she's left to scroll through the cable channels alone, mindlessly picking at her popcorn, suddenly not in the mood for it, and her mind wanders.

 

The scene of walking in on her partner and Detective White play over and over again in her head. No matter how hard she tries to focus on something else, she can't shake the image. Why is she so upset over what happened? He is, after all, a warm-blooded male. Their jobs are stressful, and he's an attractive man in his prime. How can she think that he's never engaged in sex as a release, an escape from the horrors they witness every day?

 

Not only that, but Mulder has an extensive adult video collection stashed away in the office. He obviously has a voracious sexual appetite. She just always assumed that it stopped at self-gratification; that he was always too busy to seek affections of the opposite sex.

 

The more she dwells on it, the more she feels like a fool. Ever since she started work on the X-Files, her social life has been put on the back burner.

 

(Though, she'll admit, she doesn't really consider going out with old med school friends once month a particularly robust social life.)

 

Never one to thrive in the dating scene to begin with, Scully feels pleased with herself if she even manages to make it to a second date with a man.

 

It's not because opportunities to accept going on a date are scarce-- being an attractive, single woman in the FBI bestows upon her the great responsibility of turning down eager suitors on a weekly basis.

 

It's because, to her, dating is a chore. Something to be tolerated as an obligation in life-- as much as paying bills or washing the car.

 

Though she's sometimes loathed to admit it, especially lately, the past three years have afforded her welcome respite from the monotonous routine of her everyday life. Now, she can't be bothered with dating because she's too busy saving the world from a government conspiracy.

 

_'Sorry, Tim from Human Resources. I'd love to go get coffee, but I have to stop super alien soldiers from taking over the planet, and destroying the human race. You understand.'_

 

However, deep down, buried somewhere within the confines of her soul, she wonders if those excuses are entirely the reason behind her reluctance to seek companionship with other men.

 

Or if it's because no guy can hold a candle to how Mulder makes her feel, and it down right terrifies her.

 

She is, after all, a warm-blooded female.

 

She lives for the little moments she can steal from him-- the way he invades her personal space by standing too close or placing a hand on her back. The furtive glances he sneaks at her when he doesn't think she's looking. The way he stares at her lips just a fraction too long when they're engaged in a heated debate. Her pulse quickens and her knees go weak just by simply hearing his voice. No man has ever affected her the way he does, and it's positively maddening.

 

She yearns for him, yet she chides herself for feeling that way because she's Special Agent Dana-fucking-Scully, and she'll be damned if she falls prey to another stereotype regarding female agents fraternizing with their male counterparts to climb the ladder at the FBI. It's already bad enough that they call her Mrs. Spooky around the office.

 

As wonderful as it is to finally have someone occupy her thoughts so frequently, it's equally as vexing. This battle she fights within herself on a daily basis is so remarkably exhausting, it's gotten to the point she wonders if she can even do this at all. She's so pent up with sexual frustration by the end of her work week, that when the weekend rolls around she's at home with her hands down her pants, making herself come to very un-partnerlike images of Mulder until she's left a sweaty, shaky mess-- feeling embarrassed and empty and even lonelier than before.

 

It feels wrong to think of Mulder as merely the object of her fantasies... yet so, so right.

 

She lets out a huff, rubbing her weary eyes, and reaches for the remote, turning off the TV. She disposes her nearly-full bag of popcorn in the wastebasket, and crawls under the rough hotel sheets, as she prepares for another restless night alone.

 

She thinks about Mulder on the other side of that thin wall, wonders what he's doing right now. She allows her thoughts to wander, in the safety of her darkened room, imagining him as he emerges from his steamy shower, droplets of water sneaking their way down his toned chest and belly, his hair a spikey mess...

 

_He smells of cheap hotel soap, deodorant, and his own, unique musk-- that scent that she equates to being inherently Mulder's. He flops down on his bed, towel still hung loosely around his hips, as he crosses his legs in front of himself, and flips through  channels on the TV. He comes across a late-night skinemax movie, and pauses to watch. He shouldn't be doing this now, especially with Scully on the other side of the wall, but he's starting to feel the familiar tingle of arousal build at the base of his spine. He bites his full bottom lip, and looks around to make sure the curtains are closed all the way, before adjusting himself lower on the bed, propping an arm behind his head, and letting his legs fall apart. His cock starts to twitch under the seam of the towel as he watches a petite, red-headed woman pleasuring herself on screen. His thoughts immediately go to his partner, and he feels a pang of remorse for thinking of Scully while he's about to masturbate, but he can't help himself. He starts to lightly palm his growing erection through the towel, and a small groan escapes his lips. His heavily lidded eyes are glued to the screen in front of him, and he watches as the woman starts to use a vibrator, her legs spread eagle, her pussy glistening with her arousal. He's now fully hard, and lets the towel fall away so he can wrap his hand around his stiff cock, stroking once from base to tip, his eyes snapping shut as he tries to stifle a groan. He gathers the large amount of precum leaking out of his tip, and spreads it over his swollen length to use as lubricant as he sets a slow pace. He's not even watching the woman on screen anymore. Instead, his mind settles on images of Scully. (Oh, the things he would like to do to her.) A flush creeps up his chest into his cheeks. His jaw goes slack, brow furrowed, eyes tightly closed. He begins to pump himself faster. His hips are bucking upwards into his hand, stomach muscles rippling under his skin. His breathing quickens, his scrotum draws closer to his body, and he stiffens as his orgasm rips through him._

 

_"Umph, Scully!" he gasps, shaking violently as white hot spurts of semen shoot onto his tan belly._

_His eyes immediately fly open at the realization that he may have just said her name out loud. His heart is beating frantically against his chest. He closes his eyes and hopes to God she didn't hear him._

_He's frozen in place. Time stands still._

_Not a sound._

_Then... a quiet knock penetrates the silence of his room, and jolts him from his delusions._

_"Mulder?"_

_Shit._

 


	2. Chasing Fire - 2

Scully lays in bed, images of Mulder pleasuring himself flash through her mind, and she feels her own arousal dampen the silk fabric of her panties. God, she shouldn't be doing this, especially with Mulder nearby, but she's too far gone at this point to care. She made a rule for herself, almost from the beginning of their partnership, not to indulge in personal pleasures while working cases away from home. Lately, she's been finding herself ignoring that rule more frequently than she cares to admit.

 

She sneaks a hand slowly down her toned stomach, and toys with the waistband of of her panties as she feels a warm, tingly sensation flood through her lower belly in anticipation. Her hand travels past her neatly trimmed curls until she encounters her own damp, silky heat, and...

 

_"Umph, Scully!"_

 

She's stirred out of her lustful thoughts as she faintly hears a familiar voice echo through the room attached to hers, and she shoots up in bed, confusion flooding her features.

 

Is she going mad? Did she really just hear Mulder cry out to her? Was she imagining it? Should she check on him? Was he okay?

 

She takes in a shaky breath, and attempts to compose herself before quietly tiptoeing over to their attached doorway.

 

She knocks, tentatively.

 

"Mulder?" She softly calls out.

 

Nothing.

 

She tries again.

 

"Mulder, it's me."

 

She waits another beat, her hand stilling on the cold doorknob, before slowly cracking open the door, and peaking inside.

 

She meets her partner's eyes just as he is pulling a pair of boxers over his hips, and he looks like a kid who metaphorically just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

 

His face is flushed. His hair is a disheveled mess. A sheen of sweat coats his lean physique.

 

They stare at each other for what seems like minutes, the sounds of their heavy breathing echoing throughout the room, before it registers in her mind what is actually going on. She mentally slaps herself for taking this long to figure it out.

 

_'God, Dana, you're a medical doctor for Christ's sake. Don't you know what the signs of arousal look like when you see them?'_

 

Still, she is frozen in place, her feet firmly rooted to the ground, unable to move. Her eyes dart to the movement she notices on the television reflected in the vanity mirror, and her face turns red hot at what she sees.

 

"Oh. God, Mulder... I, I, I'm sorry..." she blurts out, a little too breathless for her liking.

 

She immediately turns, and shuts the door behind her, leaning up against it, closing her eyes, and letting out a breath she didn't even know she was holding. The coolness of the metal door feels like ice against her heated skin. A chill shoots throughout her body.

 

It takes a minute to register what actually just happened, and she blushes wildly at the thought that Mulder, her partner, was pleasuring himself while thinking of her.

 

She feels, rather than hears, a knock on the door behind her, the deafening sound of her beating heart still roaring through her ears, and her pulse quickens at the sensation. She swallows hard.

 

"Scully, I know you're in there."

 

She turns and summons the courage to face her partner.

 

"Scully, open up."

 

The door swings open, and she's met with the sight of her partner towering over her in nothing but a white t-shirt and grey boxers, only inches of space existing between them. Gone is the flustered, boyish look of embarrassment. Instead, he looks dark. Dangerous. His nostrils are flared, his gaze is harsh, and his breathing is heavier than normal, almost coming out in short pants.

 

He pushes past her, and takes a few steps inside before turning to her, his arms folded across his chest.

 

"You sure have a knack for showing up in my room during the most inopportune times," he mutters, his jaw clenched tight.

 

She just stares at him a moment, taken aback by his sullen disposition, and she doesn't know whether she should be afraid, angry, turned-on, or all of the above.

 

"You really want to talk about Detective White?" she scoffs. "Now? Of all times?"

 

It's her turn to cross her arms. She faces him, defensively.

 

"No, Scully, I wanna talk about why you always feel the need to barge into my goddamn room like it's yours!" He raises his voice.

 

_'He's going to blame this on her?!?'_

 

Burning heat spreads from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. She shoots him a threatening glare. She's shaking now.

"Maybe if you kept your male libido in check, and didn't engage in certain questionable, nocturnal activities while on assignment, you wouldn't have to worry about someone walking in on you!" she practically yells, immediately regretting the words as soon as they leave her lips.

Mulder stares at her in shock like she just slapped him across the face.

"Mulder, wait," she says apologetically. "No, listen," she fumbles, and lets out a frustrated sigh, turning her gaze to the ground while rubbing her neck.

_'This is great,'_ she quietly reprimands herself.

She sees him take a step towards her, and she glances up to meet his eyes. It's like staring into a black hole, and she can't look away. He sucks her in.

"Maybe--," he takes another step, his deep, gravelly voice making the hairs stand on the back of her neck.

"Maybe if it wasn't so damn _HARD_ to ignore how dizzy with need you make me feel just by being in my proximity, I wouldn't feel compelled to seek less conventional means of satisfying those sexual urges."

Her mouth falls open in shock, eyes go wide. She physically shudders, and is annoyed with her body for betraying her so openly in his presence.

She's a doctor, a scientist, a physicist, and yet she struggles to comprehend what he just said-- words failing to register as though her brain has been short-circuited.

She's supposed to be the rational one, the one with the level-head, who's always in control, but right now she feels like a booey tossed around violently in a stormy sea. She's drowning in her emotions, and wants nothing more than to be thrown a lifeline, to be tethered to shore.

Sensing her distress, Mulder reaches out to touch her elbow, trying to anchor her back to reality. She's startled from her thoughts, and flinches away from his touch like he's just physically burned her.

"Scully, you must have some kind of idea on the effect you have on me," he says almost in disbelief. His voice is softer.

She feels as though her body is being ripped in two. She's torn between the primal, womanly desires of her heart, and her prudent, logical brain.

Her heart is rejoicing in the revelation that she drives Mulder just as crazy as he does her. She wants to grab him and kiss him senseless, until he can't remember his own name. Wants to tell him that, on lonely nights alone in her bed, her thoughts are consumed with him. That some days the sexual tension between them is so oppressive, she can't breathe.

 

Her brain, however, is screaming at her to run away. It's reminding her that this is Mulder, her best friend, her partner. That the invisible line they've created exists for a reason, and a romantic relationship would only further complicate things.

 

She trusts this man more than anyone-- knows his heart almost better than she knows her own, but the thought that she might just be seen as an object of desire by him makes her question his intentions tonight.

 

Scully clears her throat, not trusting herself to speak just yet. She knows whatever she's going to say will come out shaky.

 

"I, um--" she tests her voice. "I... I don't know what to say."

 

She shrugs, staring off into the distance.

 

It was the truth, at least.

 

"Look, Scully, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he sighs and runs an agitated hand through his hair then scratches the stubble on his jaw nervously.

 

"God, you must think I'm some kind of crazy, deranged sex-addict."

 

She'd laugh if his declaration didn't strike such a personal chord within her. There was no room for her to judge. She lost count of how many times this past month, alone, she let her sexual frustration get the better of her.

 

"No," she hears herself say before she can even stop the word from leaving her mouth. She closes her eyes, touches the tip of her tongue to her lip, and lets out a measured breath. She mentally rebukes herself for acknowledging his last, loaded statement.

 

"No?" he repeats.

 

"Mulder," his name leaves her lips on an exhale. She shakes her head, unwilling to meet his eyes.

 

"You're not crazy."

 

"Oh?" he says, amused. "Please, do explain. Because, right now, that's exactly how I feel."

 

_'HE wants an explanation? She can barely make sense of it herself.'_

 

She sighs, dejectedly. He's chipping away at her self-control with each passing moment.

 

"What do you want me to say? Hm? That you're all I think about? That when you stand too close to me I sometimes forget to breathe? That I physically ache for you?!"

 

She suddenly feels a surge of boldness, the tenacity in her voice growing with each word.

 

He stares at her in amazement, mouth slightly agape.

 

She continues, lowering her voice to almost a whisper. "That I dream about your hands on me? Your mouth on mine? That I touch myself to thoughts of you, too?"

 

He closes his eyes, and attempts to steady his breathing as though her words burn through him.

 

"Is that what you want to hear, Mulder?"

 

She's almost taunting him now. Daring him to acknowledge what they're both so afraid to admit.

 

Suddenly, his eyes fly open, and his intense, stormy gaze is boring into her, making her squirm. She feels naked, exposed. Her courage is gone as quickly as it came.

 

"Is that true?" He asks roughly, his tone demanding.

 

"Mulder..."

 

He hooks a finger underneath her chin, forcing her to look at him.

 

"Is. It. True."

 

A delicious tingle runs up her spine, and she shivers.

 

"Yes."

 

Scully's forthright declarations must have had the intended effect because she notices the breath hitch in his throat.

 

"Oh, Scully," he sighs, and it almost comes out like a groan.


	3. Chasing Fire - 3

There's a noticeable shift in the air between them now. Scully panics.

 

She's already hanging on by a thread, and his close proximity to her, the unmistakable scent of him filling her nostrils, is making her lightheaded. She attempts to show at least some semblance of resolve, searching deep inside herself for even an ounce of willpower, something... anything... to put an end to this before it goes too far.

 

"We can't do this," she whispers, her eyes focusing on his lips-- already betraying her thoughts. It's a weak protest, and she knows it.

 

Bending his head, he slowly inches his face closer to hers, despite her words. His hand travels from her chin to the nape of her neck.

 

"Tell me to stop, and I will," his breath now hot on her cheek.

 

She's unable to speak. She's unable to do anything, but watch in awe as his lips make the slow, torturous descent towards hers. Her face is on fire, and she wonders when the simple, automatic act of just breathing suddenly became impossible. Already, she feels a surge of wetness coat her panties. She's never been more turned on in her life.

 

Instinctively, her eyes flutter shut as she anticipates the feel of his lips on hers, but realizes, after a few, very long seconds, all she feels is the heat of his breath instead.

 

Scully knows he's giving her an out-- one last time to back away and forget this ever happened. However, she's already too far gone. Her body is on autopilot, instinctively responding to his closeness as if drawn to him by some invisible, magnetic force.

 

She ghosts her lips over his. Barely touching.

 

He moves, then, locking his lips with hers fully. They both inhale sharply at the contact.

 

She's stays frozen in time, almost afraid to move for fear of breaking this spell that they're in until, finally, the need to feel more of him becomes too strong.

 

He kisses her expertly. She's had dreams about those lips, but nothing could possibly compare to reality. They're firm, but pliant; soft, yet solid. He's mastered the perfect balance between giving and taking, and she's lost in the gentle, rhythmic tug and pull their mouths are creating.

 

Mulder's kissing her with the force of his entire being-- pouring his heart and soul into into it. It's hot and smothering and intense and wet and, God, she doesn't know how much more she can take. Her lungs are burning with need for air, making her feel faint, and she reluctantly breaks away to catch her breath.

 

Her eyes are still tightly shut, and she rests her forehead against his. She's physically trembling with need.

 

"Jesus, Mulder."

 

He pulls back and searches her eyes.

 

"You okay?"

 

She finally meets his gaze, and her insides flip at the sight of him.

 

He looks positively love-drunk.

 

"Yeah," she breathes. "More than okay. That was just-- I just-- I need a minute."

 

He chuckles.

 

"Oh, that was nothing, Scully," he leans in, and nuzzles her neck with his nose, lowering his voice.

 

"I'm just getting started."

 

Mulder reaches out to run the tip of his tongue along the tendon straining in her neck, and she bites her lip to stifle a moan. He continues his journey until he reaches the tender spot underneath her jaw-- placing wet, open-mouthed kisses to her fluttering pulse point. She automatically tilts her head to give him better access, her hands moving to the nape of his neck to hold him in place.

 

He reaches up to tug the collar of her shirt down as his velvety lips resume their assault on the newly-exposed expanse of skin. A jolt of electricity shoots straight to her core when he lightly scrapes his teeth along her collarbone.

 

She gasps, and gathers a fist full of his hair, yanking his head backward until his hooded eyes meet hers.

 

"Mulder, you keep doing that, and I'm not going to be able to help myself from taking you right here on the floor." The huskiness in her voice sounds foreign to her ears.

 

His pupils darken at her words. He licks his lips. A smug grin spreads across his face.

 

"Mmmm, is that supposed to deter me?"

 

God, he's making her crazy. She wants to kiss that look right off his face.

 

Without warning, she's pulling him to her, ravaging his mouth with hers. This kiss is different from before. It's sloppy and eager. Scully runs her tongue along his lips. He groans, and tilts his head to deepen the kiss. She feels dizzy as his tongue probes and explores every inch of her mouth.

 

Mulder reaches up to cup her face in his hands, brushing his thumbs along her cheekbones, drinking her in.

 

Scully's hands are fisted at his chest, grasping at the fabric of his t-shirt. She sucks his full bottom lip into her mouth, teasing it with her tongue. He moans, and she releases it with a pop.

 

They stare wildly at each other, breathless.  Mulder shakes his head in amazement at the sight of her: her hair is a mess, lips swollen, eyes lidded. The pale skin on her neck is marked red from his earlier attentions. His cock stirs in his pants at the thought that he did that.

 

Scully notices the bulge growing in his boxers, and she looks up at him bashfully.

 

This is what three years of sexual tension has come to, and she feels as though she might die from the pleasure coursing through her body. They're not even naked yet.

 

_Yet._

 

Oh, God. Where was this going? Was she about to have sex with Fox Mulder?

 

She could stop this right now, and their partnership would remain beyond reproach. There would be a few awkward weeks, but they'd put this night in the box labeled 'Things Never to Talk About,' and they'd move on. Like they always do.

 

Except, she'd die an old, lonely maid because there would never be another man who could set her soul on fire the way Mulder does.

 

She'd always be chasing that fire.

 

Who is she kidding?

 

She's already experienced too much. She could never go back to the way things were-- could never look at his lips again, and not imagine the feel of them against hers. Could never watch him eat sunflower seeds without thinking of his skilled tongue on her neck. Suddenly, she doesn't care.

 

This is happening tonight, consequences be damned. If they decide to go back to before, so be it. She'll spend the rest of their partnership in sexual purgatory, if she has to. She'll learn to become a masochist, and derive pleasure from the pain of never being able to cross that line again. She'll put him on a pedestal like a sculpture in a museum-- there to admire from a distance, never able to touch.

 

She's done it for three years, she'll do it for thirty more, but tonight they're seeing this through.

 

With a newfound surge of determination, she looks up at Mulder suggestively as she bites her lip, curling her fingers around the waistband of his boxers.

 

Instead of tugging them down his legs, she slowly walks backwards, pulling him to her by his hips-- his erection like a compass needle between them, pointing to the True North of his desire. Her back hits the wall. He's frozen in place, just watching, mesmerized by the change in her demeanor.

 

Her fingers move to the buttons on her pajama top, and goosebumps form on her chest under his gaze as he anticipates the unveiling of her womanhood to him. Her nipples are straining painfully against the fabric of her bra. She reaches the last button, and slides the silky fabric off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

 

"Touch me," she whispers, pleading.

 

He reaches between them, and runs his large palms up her taut stomach reverently, eyes full of wonder. She quivers-- muscles twitching at the unfamiliar feeling. It's been ages since she's been touched this way. He hits a particularly sensitive spot, and her head falls forward, letting out something between a shaky breath and a silent giggle.

 

He stops.

 

"Why, Agent Scully, are you ticklish?"

 

He grins at her in that sexily, playful way-- like he's just discovered his new favorite past time. She's too hot and bothered to see the amusement. She grabs his hands in an attempt to prevent him from producing that feeling again, moving them up to cup her breasts instead.

 

"God, Mulder, _please_ ," she hisses.

 

He brings his mouth to hers and chuckles against her lips. "Okay, but don't think I'm going to forget that little nugget of information any time soon."

 

Mulder kisses his way down her neck. She feels his mouth suck her tender flesh at the apex of her breasts. He runs his tongue past the edge of her bra, and she finally lets out a moan. Up until now, she's limited her vocal responses to tiny gasps and breaths only.

 

The sound she makes seems to stir him into action. He reaches around, impatiently fumbling with the hook of her bra. He lets out a huff of frustration against her skin, and she reaches back to unclasp it with the deft flick of her fingers.

 

Mulder tilts his head back to watch intently as the fabric falls away, revealing new, undiscovered territory. He bites his lip, and lets out an appreciative groan.

 

"...Scully."

 

His voice is as thick as molasses. It goes straight to her clit.

 

His gaze is hot, eyes practically burning through her skin, but she detects something else in them.

 

Tenderness? Adoration?

 

Love?

 

Scully shakes that last thought from her head, unwilling to let herself be emotionally vulnerable right now. She dare not indulge in the thought that Mulder could possibly love her, especially while she's standing in front of him bare-chested and needy.

 

Love her as a friend, partner? Sure. That's within the realm of possibility.

 

But romantic love?

 

The feel of Mulder's mouth on her taut nipple brings her back to reality, and her hands instinctively fly to his hair, a soft moan escaping her lips.

 

His hand journeys up to her other breast, and he mirrors the motions his tongue is making, causing her eyes to roll into the back of her head-- which lands with a thud on the wall behind her.

 

Every nerve in her skin seems to come alive at the feel of his mouth on her chest. The contrast between the silky wetness of his tongue and the scratchy roughness of his day-old stubble is driving her wild. Her milky white skin is rubbed almost raw from his ministrations, but she could care less. She likes being marked by him.

 

Scully bends into his touch, arching her back. He traces the outline of her ribs in a methodically slow rhythm. The breath hitches in her throat, and she stiffens, when his hand nearly comes into contact with the ticklish area on her side. She feels him smile against her breast.

 

"Relaaaxx, I'm not going to tickle you. I'd like very much like not to get shot tonight."

 

Relieved, she lets out a shaky breath.

 

"Smart man."

 

She's suddenly filled with the desire to see more of him, and scrapes her nails lightly down his muscular back, to the edge of his t-shirt. She tugs at the fabric impatiently, and Mulder gets the hint as he breaks away to pull the shirt up and over his head.

 

He ducks his head to kiss her, but stops when he feels Scully's hands pull at the elastic of his underwear.

 

His hands move to cover hers, stilling her movements, and he pauses to look her in the eyes, trepidation washing over his face.

 

"Scully, are you sure?"

 

Her heart skips a beat at his question.

 

They're about to take a plunge into the unknown; embark on a journey into uncharted territory.

 

She should be terrified-- and yet she knows that they're doing this together, like they've done everything in their partnership, and suddenly she's never been more sure of anything in her life.

 

Taking his hands in hers, she gives them a reassuring squeeze, and steadies her breathing.

 

"Yes."


	4. Chasing Fire - 4

Mulder gives a small nod of encouragement, and they slide his boxers down together, revealing a very prominent erection standing at attention against his lower belly. Her eyes widen.

 

She trails her eyes over the small smattering of chest hair, past his perfectly defined abs, and stops at the tease of fine hairs that disappear into a larger thatch at the base of his impressive manhood.

 

She catches herself blatantly staring at her partner, trying her hardest not to gawk at how absolutely gorgeous he is, but being wholly unsuccessful.

 

Scully is an empiricist by nature. Her world is a composition of facts and figures, of evidence and truths, and everything is pointing to the knowledge that Fox Mulder is an absolutely perfect male specimen.

 

A small grin breaks out across his face.

 

"You're staring," he says as though he's amused his normally reserved partner has been reduced to ogling him like he's some kind of Greek God.

 

She blushes, and clears her throat.

 

"I'm just... taking it all in," she manages between breaths.

 

This seems to inflate his ego as he boldly steps towards her, and reaches for the hem of her pajama pants-- the contact of his hands on her tummy suddenly sending a wave of pleasure to her center.

 

She gasps in surprise.

 

"My turn," he says, his raspy voice thick with desire.

 

Mulder stares at her ardently as he slowly pulls the silky fabric of her pants and underwear down her legs, kneeling as he goes. She steps out of them, and he tosses them off into the void.

 

The air between them is supercharged as she watches him drink her in with his impossibly sexy bedroom eyes.

 

Mulder is still kneeling in front of her, his gaze level with the most intimate part of her, and she feels a nervous excitement course through her body.

 

"Now you're staring," she says, looking down at him as she worries her nail between her teeth.

 

His head moves to place a light kiss on the inside of her thigh, and he pauses to breathe in her feminine scent.

 

"That's because you're beautiful, Scully."

 

She almost laughs.

 

Not because what he just said was even remotely funny, but because hearing her partner say that she's beautiful so matter-of-factly makes her stomach flutter in a funny way.

 

Mulder begins to pepper sensual kisses up and down her thighs, her legs turning to Jell-O. She has to lean into the wall just to keep herself upright. Her hands tangle in his hair as he slowly kisses his way to the center of her desire.

 

Oh, God. He's going to pleasure her orally, and just the thought of it makes her clit ache and throb. She's fantasized about this an embarrassing amount of times, and she's got those damn sunflower seeds to thank for that.

 

He reaches down to hook her leg over his shoulder, opening her up to him, and she thinks she might die before he even touches her.

 

"Is this okay?" He mumbles against her skin, ever the gentleman.

 

She can barely trust herself to speak right now, so she resorts to nodding enthusiastically. Then she realizes he can't see her because his face is buried between her legs so she manages a breathy "Ohmygodyes." It tumbles inelegantly from her lips, but she's past caring at this point.

 

He gives a slight chuckle before experimentally running a finger across her slit, testing her wetness, and letting out a groan that vibrates straight to her already sensitive bundle of nerves.

 

"Jesus, Scully," he says, huskily. "You're so wet."

 

"It's your fault," she breathes.

 

"In that case, I better make up for it."

 

Her eyes slam shut, and she moans as Mulder finally puts his mouth on her.

 

The feel of his velvety tongue on her pussy makes fireworks explode behind her eyelids. It feels incredible.

 

"Oh, God, Mulder," she gasps.

 

He explores her folds, gently kissing and licking, before setting a slow rhythm against her swollen clit. The sounds she makes are his guide, letting him know just how much pressure to use or how fast to go.

 

The tension he's building within her is maddening. He sucks her clit into his mouth, and teases it quickly with the tip of his tongue, almost getting her to the edge, before backing off and lazily licking her labia.

 

"Pleeeaaase," she breathes, needing him to pick up the pace. He complies.

 

Soon, that small spark of arousal begins to build, and she feels that familiar ache burn through her lower belly. She's close.

 

Her breathing shallows, coming out in short pants through her parted lips. The movement of her hips begins to slow, and she stiffens. A flush spreads across her chest.

 

Mulder notices the change in her body, and he abruptly stops.

 

Her eyes fly open in confusion.

 

"Fuck! Mulder!" She huffs out as he kisses his way back up her body.

 

She'd shoot him right now if she was actually able to move.

 

Mulder smirks as he reaches back down to plunge two fingers inside her wet heat.

 

He immediately crashes his mouth to hers, swallowing her moans in a heated kiss. She can taste herself on his lips, and if she wasn't so beside herself with need, she'd think it was the hottest thing she'd ever experienced.

 

Curling his fingers, he hits her G-spot, then swipes his thumb over her clit, finally sending her over the edge.

 

Her orgasm rips through her body, and he pulls away to watch her come apart in his hand.

 

"Look at me," Mulder demands.

 

She fights the urge to keep her eyes closed, opening them up to look at him through hooded eyes as she shakes and quivers beneath him.

 

The way he's starting at her as she falls apart almost makes her come again. She sees the full magnitude of her desire reflected back in his gaze, and it's almost too much for her to take.

 

She's never experienced an orgasm quite so powerful in her life, and that thought is equally exciting as it is unnerving.

 

She collapses against Mulder, sweaty and spent as she recovers, her shaky legs fighting to keep her upright. He holds her tight to him, kissing her back down to reality.

 

Mulder's deep voice stirs her out of her hazy afterglow.

 

"I'm not trying to sound crass, but watching you come is the single hottest thing I've ever witnessed."

 

Suddenly, she's all to aware of their position-- of his hot breath against her skin, the fast and steady thump of his heart against her chest, the evidence of his swollen desire pressed against her lower belly.

 

She reaches down to take Mulder's cock in her hand, the unexpected move making him gasp. She slowly begins to jerk him off. His head falls to her shoulder.

 

"Fuck, Scully!"

 

The feel of him in her hand floods her body with a rush of excitement. He's bigger than she ever expected-- so thick her dainty fingers can barely circle his girth. He's impossibly hard, and the thought that he's this hard for _her_ , makes her head spin. She could stay like this forever with him so hot and ready in her hands, but she knows he won't last, and she needs to feel him inside her.

 

"Bed," she demands huskily. "Now."

 

She releases him, and he swoops her up in his arms enthusiastically. She lets out a surprised giggle as he carries her to the bed, and plops her down on the mattress unceremoniously.

 

Scully slowly moves her way up to the headboard as Mulder follows her, crawling up her petite form, a predatory gleam in his eyes. She can hardly believe this is happening.

 

In a sentimental act that surprises even her, she brings her hand to his face, gently caressing his cheek with her thumb. He turns his head to place a kiss on her palm, his fervent gaze making her insides melt.

 

The realization that this is more than just sex, more than just relieving a little tension with her partner, abruptly hits her full force. She feels so deeply for this man that is scares her. She wonders if she can do this with him, cross that line, and not end up falling in love. In fact, she's not entirely convinced that she's not already in love with him.

 

Mulder must've noticed her inner turmoil, concern suddenly etched across his face.

 

"Scully," he starts. "We don't have to do this."

 

"I... I want to. I'm just feeling a little... overwhelmed," she says quietly, unable to meet his gaze.

 

He bends his head, searching her eyes, forcing her to look at him.

 

"This is more than just sex to me, Scully," he whispers. "Doing this with you could never be _JUST_ anything."

 

She finally looks into his eyes and sees such an overwhelming force of tenderness behind them it renders her breathless.

 

Scully stops herself from uttering three, very dangerous words by crashing her lips to his.

 

He groans into her mouth as they share a heated, passionate kiss. The weight of his solid body atop hers, the feel of his soft skin sliding across her own, makes her crazy with need.

 

Mulder breaks the kiss. "Do you, ah, have a condom?" He asks breathlessly.

 

"I'm on the pill," she confides. "And I'm, uh, clean."

 

"Me too," he says, relieved, before capturing her lips again, kissing her fiercely.

 

Scully reaches between them to guide him to her opening-- swollen, soaked, and ready to be filled by him. She rubs the head of his cock against her folds, coating him in her fluids, evoking from him a deep groan.

 

He breaks their kiss to hold her gaze as he slowly presses into her slick warmth-- his brow furrowing, lip caught between his teeth, eyes heavily lidded.

 

Her body is overcome with a delicious tingle at the feel of him finally inside her. Her pulse races and she releases the soft moan caught in her throat.

 

He's physically shaking, sweat starting to form on his brow from trying to hold back, giving her time to adjust.

 

"God, you're so tight."

 

She looks up at him bashfully.

 

"It's been a while."

 

He bends down to place a kiss to her temple as he pulls out before sliding back into her wetness again, slowly.

 

"Jesus, Mulder," she moans. "Oh my God you feel so good."

 

He starts a slow rhythm, their intelligible gasps and moans mingling in the air between them. He's hitting all the right places, and she already feels the pressure building deep within her belly.

 

Her legs wrap tightly around him, crossing her ankles behind his buttocks, squeezing him to her, needing him deeper. She wants him so deep inside that he can never leave. He brings his head up to look at her, his eyes dark orbs of burning passion. She's lost in the sensations his body is creating-- in the feel of him, the smell of him, the taste of him. He surrounds her, consumes her, mind, body, and soul, and she's overwhelmed by it all.

 

He picks up the pace, pumping in and out of her with reckless abandon. His head drops to her chest, peppering her skin with sloppy kisses, and she can tell he's getting close.

 

She adjusts her hips so that his pelvis grinds against the center of her pleasure, bringing her closer to her own release. He brings his hand to her breast, tweaking a nipple in between his fingers.

 

"Come for me, Scully. I need you to come for me," he manages between pants and, before she realizes it, her body is quaking and spasming beneath him.

 

He thrusts hard inside her one more time before succumbing to his own release. He lets out a rough groan, and she looks up to watch him fall apart, his face contorted in pure ecstasy. It's the hottest thing she's ever seen and, like a drug, she's instantly addicted to the sight of it. She wants to witness it again and again.

 

Mulder collapses beside her, exhausted and soaked with sweat. Their heavy breathing echoes off the walls, the room is thick with the heady scent of sex.

 

Every muscle in her body feels remarkably tired, and it takes all her strength just to reach out and languidly stroke her partner's hair.

 

"You alive over there?"

 

He turns towards her, grabbing her by the waist, and tugging her to him possessively. She smiles at the sweetness of his actions.

 

"I'm more than alive, Scully," he says, his voice hoarse. He places soft kisses to her shoulder.

 

Her heart leaps at his declaration, and a grin breaks out across her face.

 

"It's scientifically impossible to be more than alive, Mulder," she teases him.

 

"Oh?" he challenges. "We witness the laws of science being defied all the time. What I just experienced, and I hope you too, is yet another example of the fundamental code of the universe being rewritten, transcending the boundaries of reason and logic, and resulting in something beyond comprehension... something wonderful and awe-inspiring... beautiful."

 

She absolutely loves it when he talks nerdy to her. The sound of his soothing voice in her ear, his intellectual ramblings, begins to lull her to sleep.

 

"Mulder?"

 

"Hmm?"

 

"I enjoyed myself, too," she murmurs. "But go to sleep."

 

He grins, and snuggles into her, pulling the covers up over them.

 

"Night, Scully."

 

"Night, Mulder."

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my one of my first MSR fanfictions, and my first published work on AO3. I have more in the making! Please be kind and leave kudos/comments!


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